


Out of Place

by sirensong413



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-04
Updated: 2012-10-04
Packaged: 2017-11-15 16:01:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/529014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirensong413/pseuds/sirensong413
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dave Strider's life crumples up into a sad wad because of a girl he just met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Encounter

The moment you lay eyes on her, you can immediately tell that something’s off. There is something about her, the new student, something that causes your mind to fidget and your thoughts to scramble. You don’t take that lightly; you are a man of poise, of total self-control. You are Dave Strider. It takes a lot to make you jump. So there’s obviously a reason why this uptight transfer student is making you lose your cool, and you’re going to get to the bottom of it.

“Rose,” Mr. Bantman, your AP Chemistry teacher, gently urges. “Please introduce yourself to your new classmates.”

She solemnly nods and turns to face the class. “Good morning, everyone, my name is Rose Lalonde. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” With that, she turns back to the teacher, signaling the end to her short introduction.

Your teacher is obviously expecting more, but when nothing comes out of her pursed, black lips, he sighs in resignation. “Rose has just moved here from New York. She had previously attended Wilshire Academy for Girls, but this is now her new school. I expect you all to give her a warm welcome.” He narrows his eyes at a group of rowdy boys in the back of the room before turning back to Rose. “Go on and find an empty seat, dear.”

You can see Rose take a deep breath before stiffly marching to the seat in front of you. Fantastic. You analyze the girl wordlessly. Anyone with a brain knows that Wilshire Academy for Girls is an all-girls private school. She’s probably condescending to others, not to mention conceited. What else? She’s a girl of few words. You snort, causing a few irritated looks in your direction. She probably doesn’t want to waste her breath with public school students. Whatever, you think to yourself. She’s not worth your time either. A faint aroma of apples distracts you from your thoughts and tickles your nose, coaxing a rather noisy sneeze out of you. The damn broad’s wearing perfume.

“Bless you.” The milky voice is almost inaudible, but just loud enough for you to confirm that the source of it is Rose Lalonde. Her voice is strangely soothing, but you quickly shake yourself out of that mentality. Get a grip, you mentally scold yourself.

You gruffly mumble a “thanks.” No way are you giving her the satisfaction of your manners. Thoroughly bored with staring at the light blond bob in front of you, you direct your attention to the lesson at hand: electromagnetic energy. Mr. Bantman’s rambling is enough to make you tune out once more. It doesn’t matter; his lessons are terrible.  It’s why half the class has a C or lower. You decide to teach the material to yourself at home, like you always do. There’s ten minutes left of class anyway, ten minutes left of pointlessly gazing out the window.

~*~

            The bell rings shrilly, dismissing the class for lunch. A stampede of laughing students shoves through the finite space of the classroom door. You cast one last look at the new student, and notice an air of puzzlement clouding her face. She probably never received a school tour. Sucks for her, you snicker as you race the other students to the rapidly increasing lunch line.  

Luckily, you get there faster than the rest, thanks to being on the track team. You impatiently grip your lunch money in your fist. Fast or not, the lunch line has the approximate speed of a rock; a rock that’s kicked a few inches forward every five minutes or so. After what seems like an eternity plus an eternity more, you reach the front where a plump old lady adjusts her glasses. “What can I get for you, sweetie?” She smiles.

“The usual,” you grin in return while handing her your money. She gives you a knowing wink then busily prepares your lunch. “There you are, dear. Have a nice lunch.”

You grab the slice of sausage and pepperoni pizza and box of apple juice from the counter. “Thanks, Mrs. D. You too.”

Armed with shitty food, you make your way over to your regular lunch table. Your best friend, John Egbert, is already there, laughing at something that’s probably a lame joke while eating a jelly sandwich. No peanut butter with that guy. Next to him is the guy making the lame joke, Jake English, but his name might as well be John Egbert #2. The guy is an oddball, but somehow, his personality is an exact match with your friend’s. They’re perfectly happy with each other, but their ceaseless chatter about terrible movies annoys the hell out of you. Nevertheless, they’re your friends and you take a seat across from John.

“…Then he makes a perfect hit and the ball goes sailing past the dreaded fence! It was priceless. A true highlight of cinema,” Jake finishes, nodding in approval. John’s eyes widen in awe. “Holy shit man, that sounds like an awesome movie. What’s it called again?”

“ _Sandlot,_ ” Jake answers. “Also known as the greatest movie about rowdy children playing baseball in history.”

You make a face. “Ew, that trash? I didn’t think it was possible to like that movie. Then again, I didn’t think it was possible to like _Weekend at Bernie’s_ too, but you proved me wrong.”

“Strider, don’t test me,” the movie fanatic grumbles. “You know how I feel about _Weekend at Bernie’s_ and I don’t appreciate you poking fun at it. I don’t understand; it’s an amazing movie! I can’t see what’s there to not like about it.”

“That’s because you were born with a lack of good taste in movies. It’s not your fault. Don’t beat yourself up about it,” you give him a mockingly sympathetic pat on the shoulder, which he slaps away.

John chuckles at the whole exchange. “He’s a lost cause, Jake. Dave just doesn’t have a refined taste in cinema. You can’t blame him.”

Jake sighs loudly. “You’ve got a point there, John. Let sleeping insufferable dogs lie, as the saying goes. Anyway, then they start cheering but they soon realize that the Beast will get their ball…”

Your thoughts drift away from their animated chatter. Once the bad movie duo starts, nothing can get them to stop. Meanwhile, your eyes lazily scan the room, searching for something interesting. You find it soon enough. In a lonely, isolated table sits Rose Lalonde, halfheartedly nibbling at her lunch. Looks like she found her way to the cafeteria. No one sits at that lunch table. You heard from a junior that last year, a boy vomited all over it. Of course, the custodians mopped up the mess, but it’s still “contaminated.” If you squint hard enough, you can just make out the mystery meat Rose is munching on: chicken filet. Chicken filet? What kind of person brings chicken filet for a school lunch? You take a bite out of your sausage and pepperoni pizza in deep thought. Just as you predicted. She’s just a snooty, rich, private school girl. But that chicken filet does look good.

You glance at your current lunch with a revolted look. Alright, let’s face it. Your lunch is utter shit. But it’s the classic school lunch level of shit. You get it because of the sheer irony of how shitty it is. It doesn’t even taste good. It’s decided. You stand up and dump your lunch in the trash.

“Later, nerds,” you give your friends a mock salute, then head over to the table where Rose sits.

You can hear your friends gossiping about you as you leave. “God, sometimes Strider’s a real douche!”

“Sometimes?” John laughs faintly.

 

“’Sup.” You plop down in front of the new student and nonchalantly snatch a piece of chicken filet from her neat lunch. She stares at you incredulously as you gobble up the chicken. God, it’s delicious.

“Excuse me?” She utters out after the initial shock.

“’Sup. What’s up. Is this new to you? Do they not speak like this in your hoity-toity private school?” You cock an eyebrow. Best to get to the point.

She scoffs. “I’m sure that ‘’sup’ is a universal slang term among teenagers, regardless of the school. What I’m concerned about is how you came up to a helpless young lady and cruelly robbed her of her chicken filet. Have you no heart?”

You make a silent observation. So she has a sense of humor. She talks too much though, which is shocking considering her earlier display of shyness in your chemistry class.

“Lady, you don’t understand my circumstances,” you retort. “The lunch here is total shit. I threw mine away because I couldn’t stand another bite of their pizza. Now I’m starving. So your chicken filet went to a good cause.” You swipe another piece. Oh man. Eating this has enlightened your taste buds.

“Well, if you insist that you’re on the verge of starvation, you can have the whole thing. Consider it a gift. I despise it, anyway,” Rose shoves her lunch in your direction. It’s even packed in a small, lavender plastic box with separated sections for the main course and sides. Oh my god. You almost laugh.

“Aw, sweet. Thanks, Lalonde,” you heartily fork out a big chunk of the chicken. “And if you hate it so much, then ask your daddy to quit making it for you.”

Rose rolls her eyes. “Do you have any idea how completely inaccurate your rich-girl outlook is? I’ll have you know my father is deceased.”

Shit, bad move.

“Oh. Sorry. Then, uh, how about your mom? She seems…girly,” you vaguely gesture to the dainty lunch set-up.

“Oh, Mother,” Rose dryly laughs. “She’s too intoxicated to do anything, much less prepare a lunch for me. I know how to take care of myself.”

“Whoa, your mom’s a drunk?” you inquire. “Sounds like you’ve got a messed-up family.”

Rose stiffens. “I’m aware of that. You pointing it out doesn’t exactly improve my situation, does it?”

Alright, you’ve asked enough personal questions to make a mattress uncomfortable. Time to compensate. “No, it’s just that I can kinda relate.”

Rose raises an eyebrow curiously. “I’d like to see you beat my record.”

You dramatically clear your throat. “Well, for one thing, both my parents are dead. My mom died in a car crash, and my dad followed soon after with suicide. It’s cool though, I was too young then to remember any of it.”

“Oh, my apologies. I never knew-” Rose falters.

“Cut the crap, I don’t need your pity. Besides, my bro takes care of me just fine. Well, if you call swords in the fridge and fights on the roof fine,” you add softly with a chuckle.

“Alright,” she holds up her hands in resignation. “You beat me, Shades. You officially have the most bizarre household I’ve ever encountered. Congratulations.”

You give her a wry smile. “Gee, thanks, Lalonde, that sure does mean a lot, coming from you.”

The high-pitched bell shrieks into your ear, abruptly interrupting your conversation. Rose begins to pack up her lunch kit. As she begins to stand up, she asks you a question. “How rude of me; I never asked for your name. You already know mine.”

“Dave,” you answer. “Dave Strider. Though I’m fine with Shades.”

“Strider. I like the sound of that. Have fun in your next class.” She starts to turn, but then stops. “Do you by any chance know the location of the Honors Pre-Calculus classroom?”

You raise your eyebrows. She’s got brains too. “Uh, yeah. It’s somewhere over there.” You wave your arm in a general direction toward the west side of the campus.

“Real specific. Thanks.” she smiles and walks away.

You exhale deeply. What the hell was that? You still don’t know what to think of her yet. _Have fun in your next class._ You scoff in disbelief considering your next class is Honors English. You can’t imagine having the teacher vigorously lecture about symbolism being fun in the least. It doesn’t matter either way; you certainly won’t be able to pay attention after what just happened.


	2. The Analysis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter two is up! in which john egbert is a total ass and dave strider gets rose lalonde feels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyone want to take a guess at what rule number one and two are

            You attempt to focus on your chemistry homework before throwing it at the wall in your room. Groaning, you limply flop onto your bed. School had felt longer than usual, and you know the reason why. English class was a lost cause. The teacher had to ask you twice to pay attention, which is unusual since you’re a top-notch student. And now you’re back home and you can’t even finish your homework properly. This is ridiculous. You run a hand through your long blond hair in exasperation. No use doing your homework for now; you know you won’t get anything done.

            You heave yourself up from your bed and stroll around your room. You haven’t taken a good look at your collection of preserved dead things in a while. Everything’s just the way it was two years ago, when you last checked it, except there’s a small film of dust coating some of the preserved amber. You lightly blow on it, disturbing the dust into a frenzied cloud. Nothing new here.

What else to do? You consider your turntables. Making music has always taken your mind off of stress. It’s been a longtime hobby, and if you had to admit it honestly, you would say that you’re pretty damn good at it. John, on the other hand, is a master at the piano, but classical just isn’t your style. You’d listen to him play if he asked you to, though. That’s what bros are for.  

You take your seat at your turntables and scan the various buttons and levers, giving each one its individual appreciation. Man, you haven’t sat here since you were fourteen or so. Well, that’s a lie. You occasionally mixed some tunes once or twice, but not as much as you used to when you were younger, what with school and all. Hopefully, you’re not out of practice.

Adjusting the snug headphones onto your head, you play around with the pitches and tones, adding a few effects here and there. You slowly start to get into the groove, your mind taking the memories of past years and churning them into your rusty hands. This will never get old, you smile to yourself. Why did you ever stop?

Too soon, you’re interrupted by an obnoxious slam. You look up, slightly jarred. Usually, you would be able to tell that someone’s coming to your room in advance, but getting into the music has caused your surroundings to melt away like cream. It’s your bro, Dirk. Who else would it be?

“Hey,” his lips open just enough to let the wispy word come out.

“’Sup. What do you need?” You briskly answer. You’re slightly annoyed by his entrance, and you want to resume mixing music as soon as you can. Your body anticipates more.

“Did you finish your homework?” He cocks an eyebrow. He so obviously knows the answer.

You sigh in irritation. “No, I can’t concentrate.”

Dirk leans against the doorway. “It better be finished by tonight or you can kiss those turntables good bye.”

“You can kiss my ass,” you mutter spitefully.

He ignores you and closes the door. “Dinner’s in the microwave!” He calls out as he’s walking away.

Your bro is right. Irritating, but right. The homework won’t do itself, and procrastinating will just bring a sleepless night of stress and regret. You continue mixing the song for a few more minutes and add finishing touches to the piece, then rest your headphones on the table. Homework can wait, though, you decide. Dinner always comes first.

You saunter over to the kitchen and open the microwave, where there’s a plate of leftover enchilada cooling. Your bro’s idea of “cultural food” is ordering takeout from foreign fast-food joints. This week was Mexican. With a sigh, you take the plate back to your room and sit down at your computer. Looks like Pesterchum got busy while you were jamming out.

\--ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 20:24--

EB: so?

TG: so?

EB: yes so!

TG: what the hell do you mean by that

EB: ugh you know what i mean. don’t pretend like you don’t.

TG: k i wont

TG: so what the hell do you mean by that

EB: i meant so what was that all about?

TG: what was what all about

TG: youre being real crafty man

TG: beating around the bush like an abusive spouse

TG: the bush being the abused partner in the relationship since it is receiving said beating

TG: what did the bush ever do to you it literally stands there all day being a bush

TG: or rather sits

TG: can bushes stand

EB: oh my god shut up!!!

EB: how am i beating around the bush? there is no bush to beat around in the first place.

EB: i’m asking for an explanation of what happened at lunch!

TG: oh that

TG: nothing

TG: theres your explanation

TG: treat it with care

EB: come on don’t be a dick.

EB: best bros always tell each other the scoop whenever one of them scores a lady.

EB: it’s one of the rules in the bro code.

EB: rule number three to be exact.

TG: whats rule number two

TG: whats rule number one for that matter

EB: nevermind what they are! you should know them yourself and i’m disappointed that you don’t.

EB: ANYWAY. you ditched us for that blond girl so you at least owe it to us to relay the events of the flirting.

TG: oh my god are you really going to treat this like some big fiasco or something

TG: nothing happened

TG: we just talked about shit

TG: and i ate her lunch

TG: thats it

EB: what did you talk about?

TG: that is none of your concern bro

EB: okay fine leave your best friend out of the loop, whatever.

EB: i don’t care anyway! i was just trying to support you.

TG: john

EB: what???

TG: you know i love you right

EB: dave don’t even.

TG: do you or do you not

EB: ugh fine.

EB: yes.

TG: k good

TG: i have to finish my hw now

TG: fucking ap chem man

TG: the teacher doesnt even know what hes doing holy shit

TG: later

\--turntechGodhead [TG] ceased being pestered by ectoBiologist [EB] at 20:56--

You log out of Pesterchum and lean back in your seat. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel guilty for being secretive about Rose. But what can you say? Confessing your familial troubles to a girl you just met makes you seem like a wimp. What the hell. You are a total wimp. A wimp who doesn’t even tell his friends about stuff they have a right to know.

You sit up straighter and thoughtfully nibble at your pencil tip. _Do_ they have a right to know? Since when was it that anytime you made a move on a girl, your friends had to know about it? It’s personal shit. You hit on broads before, but Egbert just joked about it. Why does he care so much now? He’s just being a nosy douche, you convince yourself. You have a right to not tell him, and he can’t do anything about it except leave you alone and respect your damn wishes.

You’re left with a rotten feeling in your stomach. You haven’t been in this much social drama since the time Jade broke up with you in eighth grade. And even then, it wasn’t that big of a deal because you guys actually stayed friends. John would understand if he knew. He’s your best friend. Of course he would. Satisfied, you discard all thoughts relating to your current issues and tackle your homework, determined to finish it without any distractions. 


End file.
